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Üst Kat Komşusuna Mektuplar
Gerçek bir kısa roman olan bu yapıt bir sürpriz üstüne kurulu: Hakkında hiçbir şey bilmediğimiz bir hanıma yazılmış yirmi üç mektubun (üç mektup da kocasına) keşfi üstüne. Marcel Proust'un Haussmann bulvarı 102 numaralı evin üçüncü katında oturan komşusu olduğunu öğrendiğimiz Madam Williams'a yazılmış mektuplar. Kadının Amerikalı dişçi kocası Charles D. Williams'ın muayenehanesi asmakatın üstünde ikinci katta, yani zavallı Marcel'in tepesinde. Dolayısıyla gürültü fobisi olan Marcel epeyce dram yaşıyor.
Mektuplarda nelerden söz ediliyor? Öncelikle, uyku ve çalışma saatleri sırasında Proust'a işkence eden gürültüden, üst kattaki tadilattan. "Sabahki gürültü su tesisatından mı geliyor diye soruşturmamı istediğinizde ihtiyatlı davranarak ne iyi etmişim. Şu çekiçlerin yanında o gürültü neymiş ki? Verlaine'in 'sırf kendini size beğendirmek için ağlayan' bir şarkıdan söz ederken dediği gibi 'yosunların üstünde suyun ürpertisi'." Proust gerçekten de her saptamasını, yazıya bir kat daha sanat katan mizahi bir karşılaştırmanın içine oturtuyor. Çünkü her şey gürültü yapıyor, ünlü bir tenor gibi şarkı söyleyen boyacılar bile: "Genellikle bir boyacı, hele bina içindeyse, Giotto'nun sanatının yanısıra Reszké'nin sanatını da icra etmesi gerektiğini sanır. Sizinkisi elektrikçi çekiç sallarken susuyor. Umarım döndüğünüzde Sistine fresklerinden daha aşağısıyla karşılaşmazsınız..."
Mektuplarda nelerden söz ediliyor? Öncelikle, uyku ve çalışma saatleri sırasında Proust'a işkence eden gürültüden, üst kattaki tadilattan. "Sabahki gürültü su tesisatından mı geliyor diye soruşturmamı istediğinizde ihtiyatlı davranarak ne iyi etmişim. Şu çekiçlerin yanında o gürültü neymiş ki? Verlaine'in 'sırf kendini size beğendirmek için ağlayan' bir şarkıdan söz ederken dediği gibi 'yosunların üstünde suyun ürpertisi'." Proust gerçekten de her saptamasını, yazıya bir kat daha sanat katan mizahi bir karşılaştırmanın içine oturtuyor. Çünkü her şey gürültü yapıyor, ünlü bir tenor gibi şarkı söyleyen boyacılar bile: "Genellikle bir boyacı, hele bina içindeyse, Giotto'nun sanatının yanısıra Reszké'nin sanatını da icra etmesi gerektiğini sanır. Sizinkisi elektrikçi çekiç sallarken susuyor. Umarım döndüğünüzde Sistine fresklerinden daha aşağısıyla karşılaşmazsınız..."
80 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2013
About the author
Marcel Proust
1,956 books6,494 followersMarcel Proust was a French novelist, best known for his 3000 page masterpiece À la recherche du temps perdu (Remembrance of Things Past or In Search of Lost Time), a pseudo-autobiographical novel told mostly in a stream-of-consciousness style.
Born in the first year of the Third Republic, the young Marcel, like his narrator, was a delicate child from a bourgeois family. He was active in Parisian high society during the 80s and 90s, welcomed in the most fashionable and exclusive salons of his day. However, his position there was also one of an outsider, due to his Jewishness and homosexuality. Towards the end of 1890s Proust began to withdraw more and more from society, and although he was never entirely reclusive, as is sometimes made out, he lapsed more completely into his lifelong tendency to sleep during the day and work at night. He was also plagued with severe asthma, which had troubled him intermittently since childhood, and a terror of his own death, especially in case it should come before his novel had been completed. The first volume, after some difficulty finding a publisher, came out in 1913, and Proust continued to work with an almost inhuman dedication on his masterpiece right up until his death in 1922, at the age of 51.
Today he is widely recognized as one of the greatest authors of the 20th Century, and À la recherche du temps perdu as one of the most dazzling and significant works of literature to be written in modern times.
Born in the first year of the Third Republic, the young Marcel, like his narrator, was a delicate child from a bourgeois family. He was active in Parisian high society during the 80s and 90s, welcomed in the most fashionable and exclusive salons of his day. However, his position there was also one of an outsider, due to his Jewishness and homosexuality. Towards the end of 1890s Proust began to withdraw more and more from society, and although he was never entirely reclusive, as is sometimes made out, he lapsed more completely into his lifelong tendency to sleep during the day and work at night. He was also plagued with severe asthma, which had troubled him intermittently since childhood, and a terror of his own death, especially in case it should come before his novel had been completed. The first volume, after some difficulty finding a publisher, came out in 1913, and Proust continued to work with an almost inhuman dedication on his masterpiece right up until his death in 1922, at the age of 51.
Today he is widely recognized as one of the greatest authors of the 20th Century, and À la recherche du temps perdu as one of the most dazzling and significant works of literature to be written in modern times.
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September 4, 2017There are a lot of little ironies contained in this slim book, not least of which is the speed with which it was published by Gallimard’s
nrf
imprint. Although the letters contained in this collection only came to light very recently, the book was in the bookshops before the end of 2013, the year which marked the centenary of the publication of the first volume of Marcel Proust’s life’s work. The irony of the situation is that the first volume of Proust’s work took a very long time to get published and was rejected by
nrf.
The letters in this collection are all addressed to Proust’s third-floor neighbour, Mme Williams, the wife of an Amercan dentist whose practice was in the apartment directly above Proust’s first-floor home at 102, boulevard Haussmann. The style of the letters is elaborate, and the content frequently contains brief references to literature, poetry and music, but the underlying message in almost every one of them is a rather prosaic one: My dear Mme Williams, please ask your husband to keep the noise down.
So on one level these letters are quite banal, little more than hastily scribbled notes by a very frustrated and particularly noise-sensitive neighbour, but on another level, they contain little insights into Proust’s life during the period they cover: 1908 to 1916. Those from 1914 onwards are particularly interesting. Proust felt so strongly about the destruction of Reims cathedral by shellfire in September 1914 that he mentions it in one of these letters in terms that echo almost exactly the passages about Reims cathedral in the final volume of his work, Le Temps Retrouvé. We realise that even though the final volume was only finished a short time before his death in 1922, he must have already worked on some of the sections before the end of 1914. In his references to the cathedral he loved so much, it is interesting to see that he avoids throwing blame on the Germans in contrast to popular opinion. Instead he phrases his comments in the same even tone as his pro-German character, the Baron de Charlus. He accepts that war is war and that we mustn't cry about what is in the end only a pile of stones. He goes on to offer a perfect little homage to the cathedral and the famous statue of the smiling angel he mentioned frequently in his work.*
Another letter, this time from 1915, highlights the irony of the invalided Proust being called up to serve at the front. Although already released from duty on three previous occasions, he spends a few anxious days during the summer of 1915 waiting for a visit from an army Major intent on double checking his fitness to fight. In the end, he is given another adjournment and that particular anxiety passes.
The final irony of this collection is that for all that M.Proust and Mme Williams lived in the same building, for all the flowery tributes and floral bouquets accompanied by endless promises to meet which they exchanged, according to his secretary/housekeeper Céleste Albaret, these two people never actually met.
*
The letters in this collection are all addressed to Proust’s third-floor neighbour, Mme Williams, the wife of an Amercan dentist whose practice was in the apartment directly above Proust’s first-floor home at 102, boulevard Haussmann. The style of the letters is elaborate, and the content frequently contains brief references to literature, poetry and music, but the underlying message in almost every one of them is a rather prosaic one: My dear Mme Williams, please ask your husband to keep the noise down.
So on one level these letters are quite banal, little more than hastily scribbled notes by a very frustrated and particularly noise-sensitive neighbour, but on another level, they contain little insights into Proust’s life during the period they cover: 1908 to 1916. Those from 1914 onwards are particularly interesting. Proust felt so strongly about the destruction of Reims cathedral by shellfire in September 1914 that he mentions it in one of these letters in terms that echo almost exactly the passages about Reims cathedral in the final volume of his work, Le Temps Retrouvé. We realise that even though the final volume was only finished a short time before his death in 1922, he must have already worked on some of the sections before the end of 1914. In his references to the cathedral he loved so much, it is interesting to see that he avoids throwing blame on the Germans in contrast to popular opinion. Instead he phrases his comments in the same even tone as his pro-German character, the Baron de Charlus. He accepts that war is war and that we mustn't cry about what is in the end only a pile of stones. He goes on to offer a perfect little homage to the cathedral and the famous statue of the smiling angel he mentioned frequently in his work.*
Another letter, this time from 1915, highlights the irony of the invalided Proust being called up to serve at the front. Although already released from duty on three previous occasions, he spends a few anxious days during the summer of 1915 waiting for a visit from an army Major intent on double checking his fitness to fight. In the end, he is given another adjournment and that particular anxiety passes.
The final irony of this collection is that for all that M.Proust and Mme Williams lived in the same building, for all the flowery tributes and floral bouquets accompanied by endless promises to meet which they exchanged, according to his secretary/housekeeper Céleste Albaret, these two people never actually met.
*
December 15, 2013
We don’t always know our neighbours. Even less do we know the neighbours of others, or feel like knowing them, unless they are the neighbours of an extraordinary personality.
And this is what has happened to the scholars of Marcel Proust. They did not know Proust’s neighbour until a set of twenty-three of his letters addressed to Mme Williams, as well as three more addressed to her husband, were recently discovered. The Williams lived on the third floor of 102, Boulevard Haussmann in Paris. The husband, a dentist, had his practice on the second floor while Proust lived on the first.
These letters are now kept at the Musée des lettres et des manuscripts.
Marie Pallu, or Mme Williams, was born about fourteen years after Proust, in 1885. She had a son from her first marriage, but divorced and married Mr Williams. Later on, she also divorced him and married for a third time – a concert pianist. Sadly she ended her own life in 1931. She seems to have been very distinguished in her tastes and had developed her own musical abilities.
This edition of the letters is lovely. Several are reproduced in their manuscript form. Just for these and for the treat of reading Proust’s handwriting is it worth getting hold of the book. The editors have also included a couple of photographs of Marie Pallu, one of them sitting with her harp. As they belong to private collections they offer a rare sight. The letters are accompanied by an excellent preface by Jean-Yves Tadié, the author of a two volume biography on Proust. In Tadié’s opinion reading this epistolary collection is as engaging as reading a novel.
They certainly are gripping, although they remain a one-sided story. We are left with the curiosity of reading Mme Williams’ replies which so far are lost. They must have been gracefully written; Proust the fastidious stylist praises their charm.
The original purpose of the letters was to complain about the noise; we can recognize Proust the eccentric. But naturally, these had to be beautiful letters; we distinguish Proust the splendid writer. We also perceive his elegance in the choice of epistles and flowers as the way to approach the noise-makers. His ability to use language to echo his sensitivity as well as the delicate gesture of sending the letters by posted mail, all contribute to recreate for us, the exquisite Proustian refinement.
The letters are not dated, but the editors have worked at tagging their times and have placed the first around 1908 and the last one in December 1916. Their correspondence probably continued until 1919 when they both left the building when it was sold. Those later exchanges seem, alas, lost.
Apart from their beauty, these letters also contain key information on Proust’s major work, La recherche du temps perdu. He explained to Mme Williams that in this multivolume novel, then conceived as a trilogy, the last book was the most important. It held the set of keys to the full work. It is ironic then that few readers succeed in reaching that last volume, which after much editing and additions, became a seventh tome. For indeed the last book is the beacon from where one can look back at the foregone reading and see the overall edifice otherwise the previous meaning would have been "perdu".
In these letters the archivist can learn that Proust had contemplated a particular feature for his plot which in the end he did not include. They also reveal that it may have been the affliction that a common friend (Joachim Clary, 1875-1918) was suffering what inspired the characterization of one of his characters. Similarly, in letter #18, we witness Proust’s deep sorrow when one of his closest friends, Bertrand de Fénélon, died in the front. It is then as a homage to this friend that we recognize another of his major characters.
One of the many unforgettable sections of La recherche is the descriptions of the bombings in Northern France and Paris. From the letters we learn that it was the photographs of the ruined Rheims cathedral with the mutilated statues that Mme Williams lent to our writer that also served as the documentation for his descriptions.
Apart from Céleste Albaret, his loyal caretaker, no one else knew about Proust’s rapport with Mme Williams.
Now we do.
And I also feel that I know more about somebody else’s neighbours than my own.
102, Boulevard Haussmann
And this is what has happened to the scholars of Marcel Proust. They did not know Proust’s neighbour until a set of twenty-three of his letters addressed to Mme Williams, as well as three more addressed to her husband, were recently discovered. The Williams lived on the third floor of 102, Boulevard Haussmann in Paris. The husband, a dentist, had his practice on the second floor while Proust lived on the first.
These letters are now kept at the Musée des lettres et des manuscripts.
Marie Pallu, or Mme Williams, was born about fourteen years after Proust, in 1885. She had a son from her first marriage, but divorced and married Mr Williams. Later on, she also divorced him and married for a third time – a concert pianist. Sadly she ended her own life in 1931. She seems to have been very distinguished in her tastes and had developed her own musical abilities.
This edition of the letters is lovely. Several are reproduced in their manuscript form. Just for these and for the treat of reading Proust’s handwriting is it worth getting hold of the book. The editors have also included a couple of photographs of Marie Pallu, one of them sitting with her harp. As they belong to private collections they offer a rare sight. The letters are accompanied by an excellent preface by Jean-Yves Tadié, the author of a two volume biography on Proust. In Tadié’s opinion reading this epistolary collection is as engaging as reading a novel.
They certainly are gripping, although they remain a one-sided story. We are left with the curiosity of reading Mme Williams’ replies which so far are lost. They must have been gracefully written; Proust the fastidious stylist praises their charm.
The original purpose of the letters was to complain about the noise; we can recognize Proust the eccentric. But naturally, these had to be beautiful letters; we distinguish Proust the splendid writer. We also perceive his elegance in the choice of epistles and flowers as the way to approach the noise-makers. His ability to use language to echo his sensitivity as well as the delicate gesture of sending the letters by posted mail, all contribute to recreate for us, the exquisite Proustian refinement.
The letters are not dated, but the editors have worked at tagging their times and have placed the first around 1908 and the last one in December 1916. Their correspondence probably continued until 1919 when they both left the building when it was sold. Those later exchanges seem, alas, lost.
Apart from their beauty, these letters also contain key information on Proust’s major work, La recherche du temps perdu. He explained to Mme Williams that in this multivolume novel, then conceived as a trilogy, the last book was the most important. It held the set of keys to the full work. It is ironic then that few readers succeed in reaching that last volume, which after much editing and additions, became a seventh tome. For indeed the last book is the beacon from where one can look back at the foregone reading and see the overall edifice otherwise the previous meaning would have been "perdu".
In these letters the archivist can learn that Proust had contemplated a particular feature for his plot which in the end he did not include. They also reveal that it may have been the affliction that a common friend (Joachim Clary, 1875-1918) was suffering what inspired the characterization of one of his characters. Similarly, in letter #18, we witness Proust’s deep sorrow when one of his closest friends, Bertrand de Fénélon, died in the front. It is then as a homage to this friend that we recognize another of his major characters.
One of the many unforgettable sections of La recherche is the descriptions of the bombings in Northern France and Paris. From the letters we learn that it was the photographs of the ruined Rheims cathedral with the mutilated statues that Mme Williams lent to our writer that also served as the documentation for his descriptions.
Apart from Céleste Albaret, his loyal caretaker, no one else knew about Proust’s rapport with Mme Williams.
Now we do.
And I also feel that I know more about somebody else’s neighbours than my own.
102, Boulevard Haussmann
September 1, 2017
It was delightful to find out that Marcel Proust was not only an ingenious writer but a charming neighbour also.
Review to come.
Review to come.
January 12, 2014
I could never understand, and still don’t understand, why Proust made (makes) me nervous. I had been trying to read his “Remembrance of Things Past” for many years but without success. Strangely enough the cork-lined room I found somewhat unnerving and it rather dissuaded me from continuing my reading. I do believe, however, that because Goodreads’ readers are such avid admirers of Proust they made me wonder if I was in fact missing something marvellous.
Why did I have this fear though and then it suddenly occurred to me that was it in fact due to his being an invalid and that made me wonder how this would affect his work. I’ve come across authors like Fitzgerald, Durrell, Hemingway, etc. who were partial to a “tipple” and that didn’t bother me in the least. But for Proust, asthma was the “villain” involved as due to this he spent so much time in bed missing school, not having a normal life in fact.
My elder brother Ken, eight years older than me, suffered very badly from asthma and when you are ten years old it is quite frightening to see someone struggling for breath and having to rely on one of the options available nowadays, such as anti-inflammatory medication (inhaled steroids), anti-leukotrienes, long-acting bronchodilators and anti-allergics. They certainly weren’t available to such an extent in Proust’s day and even now people can die from an attack.
Yet according to Edmund White's biography of Proust:
Asthma was one of the great decisive factors in Proust's development. Because of it he was constantly treated as an invalid (and regarded himself as permanently sickly). Because of it he missed many months of school, was afraid to travel, and constantly had to cancel plans to see friends. Because of it he spent many days in a row, even weeks, lying perfectly still, struggling to breather. And because of it, at least indirectly, he died an early death at fifty-one. [...]Because of it he was forced to spend much of his life in bed. [...] Because of it he was forced to embrace solitude, but it also provided him with a ready excuse for keeping people at bay when he wanted to work. Because of it his family and friends and servants were tyrannized by his needs, sometimes even his whims.
So I recently duly read Proust’s letters from 1880 – 1903 and they were brilliant. His asthma was tolerated as can be seen by his visits to friends, travel, etc. but when I read the twenty three letters to Mrs Williams and the three to her husband, Charles, a doctor, in “Lettres à sa voisine”, I was disappointed in a strange way as the letters didn’t make the same impression or have the resonance as those in the earlier book. He was older, thirty-seven years of age, had lost his parents (his father and mother in 1903 and 1905, respectively) and was an invalid, more or less confined to his bed. But he still believed in his literary capabilities and he wanted everyone to see the outcome of his endeavours, including Mrs Williams.
But then there was an apparent change in his life. He had an obsession about noise when he lived at 102 boulevard Haussmann. He continually complained of being tired (a lot due to the noise) and he didn’t know how long he was going to be in bed. He cancelled the visits of friends. The Williams lived above him and the slightest noise pained him and from 1908(?) – 1916 he had this somewhat impersonal (but with “chatty” sections thrown in) correspondence with Mrs Williams. What is interesting though is that I got the impression that he was trying to charm her as a way of getting her to ensure that the noises coming from her apartment stopped. He even made excuses for his own maid and hoped that any noises from his apartment were not bothering Mrs Williams. It was also sad seeing the friends that Proust lost during the war such as Bertrand de Fénelon, and also the brother of Mrs Williams, Alphonse Pallu.
This book is nevertheless a delight from being a social document and there are also samples of his handwriting which are charming. In the appendices there is a delightful floor plan of Proust’s apartment. He lived there from 1907 to 1919 when he had to vacate, as did Mrs Williams, as the building had been sold. Mrs Williams subsequently remarried Alexandre Brailowsky and I wonder what happened to her then? But the most bizarre thing is that it transpires that Proust never spoke to anyone about his neighbour. I found that really odd.
I do feel, and it is rather a contradictory statement, that being an invalid enabled him to think more and thus to write in depth. He had the time in which to reflect and in these periods of introspection he evidently found his own soul and would write to be the great author he continues to be.
So I’m going to slowly read “Remembrance of Things Past” throughout this year, with other books, as I have made it my major challenge and I wonder if I will be successful? If I am, I will read the French as that is the way it should be.
Why did I have this fear though and then it suddenly occurred to me that was it in fact due to his being an invalid and that made me wonder how this would affect his work. I’ve come across authors like Fitzgerald, Durrell, Hemingway, etc. who were partial to a “tipple” and that didn’t bother me in the least. But for Proust, asthma was the “villain” involved as due to this he spent so much time in bed missing school, not having a normal life in fact.
My elder brother Ken, eight years older than me, suffered very badly from asthma and when you are ten years old it is quite frightening to see someone struggling for breath and having to rely on one of the options available nowadays, such as anti-inflammatory medication (inhaled steroids), anti-leukotrienes, long-acting bronchodilators and anti-allergics. They certainly weren’t available to such an extent in Proust’s day and even now people can die from an attack.
Yet according to Edmund White's biography of Proust:
Asthma was one of the great decisive factors in Proust's development. Because of it he was constantly treated as an invalid (and regarded himself as permanently sickly). Because of it he missed many months of school, was afraid to travel, and constantly had to cancel plans to see friends. Because of it he spent many days in a row, even weeks, lying perfectly still, struggling to breather. And because of it, at least indirectly, he died an early death at fifty-one. [...]Because of it he was forced to spend much of his life in bed. [...] Because of it he was forced to embrace solitude, but it also provided him with a ready excuse for keeping people at bay when he wanted to work. Because of it his family and friends and servants were tyrannized by his needs, sometimes even his whims.
So I recently duly read Proust’s letters from 1880 – 1903 and they were brilliant. His asthma was tolerated as can be seen by his visits to friends, travel, etc. but when I read the twenty three letters to Mrs Williams and the three to her husband, Charles, a doctor, in “Lettres à sa voisine”, I was disappointed in a strange way as the letters didn’t make the same impression or have the resonance as those in the earlier book. He was older, thirty-seven years of age, had lost his parents (his father and mother in 1903 and 1905, respectively) and was an invalid, more or less confined to his bed. But he still believed in his literary capabilities and he wanted everyone to see the outcome of his endeavours, including Mrs Williams.
But then there was an apparent change in his life. He had an obsession about noise when he lived at 102 boulevard Haussmann. He continually complained of being tired (a lot due to the noise) and he didn’t know how long he was going to be in bed. He cancelled the visits of friends. The Williams lived above him and the slightest noise pained him and from 1908(?) – 1916 he had this somewhat impersonal (but with “chatty” sections thrown in) correspondence with Mrs Williams. What is interesting though is that I got the impression that he was trying to charm her as a way of getting her to ensure that the noises coming from her apartment stopped. He even made excuses for his own maid and hoped that any noises from his apartment were not bothering Mrs Williams. It was also sad seeing the friends that Proust lost during the war such as Bertrand de Fénelon, and also the brother of Mrs Williams, Alphonse Pallu.
This book is nevertheless a delight from being a social document and there are also samples of his handwriting which are charming. In the appendices there is a delightful floor plan of Proust’s apartment. He lived there from 1907 to 1919 when he had to vacate, as did Mrs Williams, as the building had been sold. Mrs Williams subsequently remarried Alexandre Brailowsky and I wonder what happened to her then? But the most bizarre thing is that it transpires that Proust never spoke to anyone about his neighbour. I found that really odd.
I do feel, and it is rather a contradictory statement, that being an invalid enabled him to think more and thus to write in depth. He had the time in which to reflect and in these periods of introspection he evidently found his own soul and would write to be the great author he continues to be.
So I’m going to slowly read “Remembrance of Things Past” throughout this year, with other books, as I have made it my major challenge and I wonder if I will be successful? If I am, I will read the French as that is the way it should be.
September 24, 2021
Büyük yazarların mektupları ne kadar kıymetli. Bu mektuplar bana en çok yaşadığımız dönemdeki yüzeysel ilişkilerin nezaketten yoksunluğunu, hoşgörüsüzlüğünü anımsatıyor. Hayatımın bu döneme denk geldiğine hayıflanıyorum.
Epostalar, whatsapp mesajları, SMS'ler, DM'ler çağında hangi günümüz yazarının, bir dosta, bir komşuya yazılmış ve de yayınlanmaya değecek gerçek bir mektubu olabilir?
Epostalar, whatsapp mesajları, SMS'ler, DM'ler çağında hangi günümüz yazarının, bir dosta, bir komşuya yazılmış ve de yayınlanmaya değecek gerçek bir mektubu olabilir?
March 31, 2016
Proust'un gürültüden duyduğu rahatsızlığı anlamak, Kayıp Zamanın İzinde'yi nasıl bir alanda yazdığına tanıklık etmek ve inanılmaz zarif günlük hayat konuşmalarından eşsiz dilinin bir tesadüf olmadığını kavramak için çok güzel bir kitap.
Gelmiş geçmiş en büyük yazarların böylesi hayatlarının içerisinden, sıradan günlük anektodlarını, günlüklerini, mektuplarını, denemelerini okumak, onların hayatlarının gizli kalmış taraflarına azıcıkta olsa ışık tutulmuş olduğunu görerek merakla keşfe çıkmak benim en sevdiğim şeylerden biri. Hele yazarımız Proust gibi bir altın yetenekse keyif iki katına çıkıyor.
Gelmiş geçmiş en büyük yazarların böylesi hayatlarının içerisinden, sıradan günlük anektodlarını, günlüklerini, mektuplarını, denemelerini okumak, onların hayatlarının gizli kalmış taraflarına azıcıkta olsa ışık tutulmuş olduğunu görerek merakla keşfe çıkmak benim en sevdiğim şeylerden biri. Hele yazarımız Proust gibi bir altın yetenekse keyif iki katına çıkıyor.
September 15, 2017
I'm fascinated with a writer's residence. Especially a writer like Marcel Proust, who lived in Paris, yet, couldn't stand outside noise. He had lined up cork in his room to keep sounds out, but alas, where does one stop, when it becomes an obsession. Ironically enough, or perhaps cruelty playing at fate, his upstairs neighbor was a dentist with his office right over his bedroom. Proust deal with this problem by addressing various correspondence to the upstairs neighbor's wife, Mme Williams. Often sent with flowers, compliments, or books. Proust, even at his wit's end, was a charmer. Any other temperament, it could have been war. Alas, it was more of a problem for the whole building to solve. The upside of this situation is that Proust and Mme Williams became close friends. She made music in her and husband's apartment, and often Proust complimented the sounds above.
"Letters to His Neighbor" is a very brief small book. All the correspondence is from Proust, so you don't get Mme Williams commentary in the above narrative. Still, and not surprisingly, the letters by Proust are written so beautifully. One wonders if the world would be a better place on Social platforms like Facebook if writers of Proust's talents were on it? The book is beautifully translated from the French to English by the great Lydia Davis. Her afterword puts a focus on the relationship between the two neighbors but also comments on the Proust apartment which I found fascinating. There is even a floor plan of Proust's apartment. Also, we get what living inside Proust's headquarters was like. According to Davis, the apartment was stuffed with his family's furniture, and it must have been like the world within a world.
"Letters to His Neighbors" is slight, but its the devil in the details, and gives some light to "Swann's Way" as well to his other volumes of the same series. Proust fanatics will want this, but again, it's the writer's lifestyle that I find of great interest. As a guy who sits behind his computer, I can imagine what Proust had to go through for his work. After all noise or quiet is a subjective view of the world.
"Letters to His Neighbor" is a very brief small book. All the correspondence is from Proust, so you don't get Mme Williams commentary in the above narrative. Still, and not surprisingly, the letters by Proust are written so beautifully. One wonders if the world would be a better place on Social platforms like Facebook if writers of Proust's talents were on it? The book is beautifully translated from the French to English by the great Lydia Davis. Her afterword puts a focus on the relationship between the two neighbors but also comments on the Proust apartment which I found fascinating. There is even a floor plan of Proust's apartment. Also, we get what living inside Proust's headquarters was like. According to Davis, the apartment was stuffed with his family's furniture, and it must have been like the world within a world.
"Letters to His Neighbors" is slight, but its the devil in the details, and gives some light to "Swann's Way" as well to his other volumes of the same series. Proust fanatics will want this, but again, it's the writer's lifestyle that I find of great interest. As a guy who sits behind his computer, I can imagine what Proust had to go through for his work. After all noise or quiet is a subjective view of the world.
February 18, 2018
For the best part of the last few years, I have been trying to gather courage to read Proust and his mammoth work, In Search of Lost Time. It isn’t surprising that I have been wanting to read it and the fact that I needed to gather courage to actually tackle it, given that I am fond of such challenges and the fact that he is touted as the most difficult author along with Joyce and DFW and the like. I did start reading Swann’s Way last year but had to stop in the middle of my reading of it due to real life’s interference and my inability to read anything serious or thought provoking. This year is another year that his first book is on my radar and I sincerely hope to finish it.
With all that in mind and me browsing through Amazon for some other books, it was a pleasant surprise and a wonderful treat to stumble, and I mean literally stumble, upon this charming book. An epistolary to the boot, this book of letters that Proust wrote to his neighbor living upstairs, is a charming and definitely a treat for those who want to read Proust and are afraid to tackle his books but are even more beautiful to those who have read his books.
Written roughly between 1908-1916, the exact information as to the dates being unknown as these letters were not dated by Proust but the same being deciphered from the subject of the letters, these give an insight into the man as well as the writer. These are letters that Proust wrote to his upstairs neighbor, a certain Mme Williams, who was the wife of an American Dentist, who had set up his practice as well as his residence in the floors directly above Proust. What makes these letters, valuable and quirky as they are, more interesting is the fact that Proust and Mme Williams have never met during the lifetime of Proust but have nevertheless engaged in a wonderful exchange of words through the medium of letters.
This book has 26 letters written by Proust to Mme Williams during the abovementioned years. While the main objective of these letters, as mentioned in the blurb and as can be seen when reading them, is the noise upstairs and the effect it had on Proust’s health and overall wellbeing; these are also full of literary and other references, which make it both an entertaining as well as an enriching read. Proust, through his letters, talks about the war and its impact, mutual friends, their mutual love for poetry, theatre and other things, including most importantly his works. While the book would be richer if the letters that Mme Williams had written to Proust could have been added (which alas have been lost), it is nevertheless complete in its own way. Proust, being an ailing individual, couldn’t bear the noise that used to come from their home on a regular basis. Instead of sounding whiny and downright complaining, his letters are funny and often seeming to the reader that he is laughing at his self, whilst also being respectful and full of admiration and love to Mme Williams.
Despite being a short read, only 112 pages in length, this book packs a punch when it comes to informing the readers about the times that it talks about, Proust as an individual and his works as well as works of others during those times. Irrespective of whether you are a Proust fan or not, this is a book that is worth reading. What makes it even more special is the fact that you have photographs of the original letters written by Proust and these make for an interesting addition.
My curiosity regarding his mammoth piece of work has increased manifold thanks to the references of the same in these letters. While I work on mustering my courage to tackle the first book, why don’t you give this one a try? It is short, it is sweet and makes you laugh and ponder and teaches you that Proust is just a man with all the foibles that only man can have.
With all that in mind and me browsing through Amazon for some other books, it was a pleasant surprise and a wonderful treat to stumble, and I mean literally stumble, upon this charming book. An epistolary to the boot, this book of letters that Proust wrote to his neighbor living upstairs, is a charming and definitely a treat for those who want to read Proust and are afraid to tackle his books but are even more beautiful to those who have read his books.
Written roughly between 1908-1916, the exact information as to the dates being unknown as these letters were not dated by Proust but the same being deciphered from the subject of the letters, these give an insight into the man as well as the writer. These are letters that Proust wrote to his upstairs neighbor, a certain Mme Williams, who was the wife of an American Dentist, who had set up his practice as well as his residence in the floors directly above Proust. What makes these letters, valuable and quirky as they are, more interesting is the fact that Proust and Mme Williams have never met during the lifetime of Proust but have nevertheless engaged in a wonderful exchange of words through the medium of letters.
This book has 26 letters written by Proust to Mme Williams during the abovementioned years. While the main objective of these letters, as mentioned in the blurb and as can be seen when reading them, is the noise upstairs and the effect it had on Proust’s health and overall wellbeing; these are also full of literary and other references, which make it both an entertaining as well as an enriching read. Proust, through his letters, talks about the war and its impact, mutual friends, their mutual love for poetry, theatre and other things, including most importantly his works. While the book would be richer if the letters that Mme Williams had written to Proust could have been added (which alas have been lost), it is nevertheless complete in its own way. Proust, being an ailing individual, couldn’t bear the noise that used to come from their home on a regular basis. Instead of sounding whiny and downright complaining, his letters are funny and often seeming to the reader that he is laughing at his self, whilst also being respectful and full of admiration and love to Mme Williams.
Despite being a short read, only 112 pages in length, this book packs a punch when it comes to informing the readers about the times that it talks about, Proust as an individual and his works as well as works of others during those times. Irrespective of whether you are a Proust fan or not, this is a book that is worth reading. What makes it even more special is the fact that you have photographs of the original letters written by Proust and these make for an interesting addition.
My curiosity regarding his mammoth piece of work has increased manifold thanks to the references of the same in these letters. While I work on mustering my courage to tackle the first book, why don’t you give this one a try? It is short, it is sweet and makes you laugh and ponder and teaches you that Proust is just a man with all the foibles that only man can have.
February 23, 2024
..vai šis bija mans pirmais Prusts? iespējams. te gan diezgan maz no viņa paša, jo, šķiet, vēstules bija īsākā grāmatas daļa – garāks bija ievads un tulkotāja pēcvārds. tomēr kaut kādu niecīgu daļu no Prusta dzīves sanāca iepazīt caur šīm vēstulēm, kas rakstītas kaimiņienei.
June 28, 2021
It should perhaps be a thing of shame that I pride myself on how many books I have read during my lifetime, but that I have never picked up anything by Proust. I'm not quite sure why this is; I am interested in his novels, and know just how inspirational his work has been to a great deal of other writers. He is regarded by many as one of the best, if not the best, writers of the twentieth century.
I can say that Proust has always been a writer on my radar, but I just didn't know of a good starting point, and was perhaps a little intimidated by his seven-novel series, In Search of Lost Time. When I saw the beautifully designed Letters to the Lady Upstairs though, I knew that I had found the right path into his work.
Twenty-three of the twenty-six letters in this relatively short collection were written by Proust to his upstairs neighbour, Madame Marie Williams, between 1909 and 1919. the others were penned to her husband. They have been translated from their original French by Lydia Davis, and were first published in English almost a century later, in 2017. The letters were not originally dated, so these have been guessed at to the best of the ability of those working on the book. Due to new information coming to light, the order of the letters in the English edition is different to that of the French; here, they are shown 'in the way that seemed the most logical'.
The letters here reveal 'the comings and goings of a Paris building'; to be precise, 102 Boulevard Haussmann in Paris, where Proust lived and wrote for over a decade. Marie Williams lived in the apartment above with her American dentist husband, whose practice was also in the building. A great deal about Proust's correspondent is not known, although sadly, she committed suicide in 1931. Her responses to Proust have also been lost.
Much can be found in these letters about the day-to-life of Proust. He complains constantly, although strangely very politely, about the noise which surrounds him, and which always stops him from sleeping. There is much, too, about the characters in Proust's fiction, which he is thrilled that Madame Williams enjoys; in the autumn of 1914, he tells her: 'At least I would have the joy of knowing that those lovely lucid eyes had rested on these pages'. Having not read any of his fiction yet, I must admit that this meant relatively little to me, but I'm sure it might be something I come back to in future once I have finally delved into his oeuvre.
This volume also includes an afterword written by the translator, and a foreword by Proust scholar Jean-Yves Tabié. Tabié writes that some of these letters were curiously sent via the postal system, despite the proximity of sender and receiver. Tabié goes on to say that 'the tone of the letters is that of friendship, of ever growing intimacy, between two solitary people.'
Like Proust, Madame Williams was something of a recluse, and was also suffering from an unknown ailment. In the second letter, for instance, Proust - who seems to find real pleasure in talking about how ill he is - writes: 'It saddens me very much to learn that you are ill. If bed does not bore you too much, I believe that in itself it exerts a very sedative effect on the kidneys.' He continues to ask her, throughout the letters which follow, what he can possibly do to alleviate her discomfort. In what is estimated to be the August of 1909, he says: 'I am saddened to learn that you, too, have been suffering. It seems natural to me that I should be ill. But at least illness ought to spare Youth, Beauty and Talent!'
Proust comes across as an extremely gentle correspondent, aware of what is going on in Madame Williams' life, and offering her one kindness after another. If I were Madame Williams, I must admit that I might have found his letters a little annoying at times, given the amount of time he spends being preoccupied about noise and illness. He is also rather pedantic, and there is something about him which I found rather prickly, and holier than thou. He writes to her in November 1915, for example, 'I am a little sorry that you have not received my last letters (though they were addressed I believe quite correctly)'. He seems keen to let her know how accommodating he is as a neighbour; in the same month, he is far too ill to attend a concert, but 'when by chance a musician came to see me in the evening, I stop him from making music for me so that the noise may not bother you.'
Although we only get to see one side of their correspondence, it is clear that there is a tenderness which Proust holds for his neighbour, and their connection does visibly grow as time passes. I personally really enjoy one-sided correspondences, and have read quite a few of them to date. I like watching how one writer's letters change over time, and what becomes more and less important to them as years pass. It is interesting, too, to imagine what might have been included in the responses. The two seem to rarely have met in person; Proust makes veiled excuses throughout as to why he cannot meet her physically, due primarily to his 'attacks'.
Proust is certainly an interesting figure, and one whom I would like to learn a lot more about. I enjoyed Davis' comments offered about the building in which Proust lived, which is now part of a bank building. She writes that this was the first place in which he ever lived alone, and that when he first moved in, 'he considered the apartment to be no more than a transitional residence.' She goes on to say that Proust was 'well-liked by his neighbours, on the whole, for the same qualities so evident in his letters to Mme Williams: his grace, eloquence, thoughtfulness, sympathy, gestures or gratitude.'
Letters to the Lady Upstairs is a revealing volume, which takes little time to read, but which lingers in the mind for a long time afterward. Proust captures so much of the city, despite largely staying indoors with his illness and the noise, and he relays everything - even his complaints - quite beautifully. As Davis says, 'Follow every reference in these letters, and Proust's world opens out before us.'
I am keen to pick up more of his work in the near future, and so would highly recommend this as a good starting point. I'm sure that if you are already familiar with Proust's novels, this will hold appeal for you too. Overall, Letters to the Lady Upstairs is quite fascinating, and introduces one to two very interesting historical figures - one whom a lot is known about, and another who has faded quite into obscurity.
I can say that Proust has always been a writer on my radar, but I just didn't know of a good starting point, and was perhaps a little intimidated by his seven-novel series, In Search of Lost Time. When I saw the beautifully designed Letters to the Lady Upstairs though, I knew that I had found the right path into his work.
Twenty-three of the twenty-six letters in this relatively short collection were written by Proust to his upstairs neighbour, Madame Marie Williams, between 1909 and 1919. the others were penned to her husband. They have been translated from their original French by Lydia Davis, and were first published in English almost a century later, in 2017. The letters were not originally dated, so these have been guessed at to the best of the ability of those working on the book. Due to new information coming to light, the order of the letters in the English edition is different to that of the French; here, they are shown 'in the way that seemed the most logical'.
The letters here reveal 'the comings and goings of a Paris building'; to be precise, 102 Boulevard Haussmann in Paris, where Proust lived and wrote for over a decade. Marie Williams lived in the apartment above with her American dentist husband, whose practice was also in the building. A great deal about Proust's correspondent is not known, although sadly, she committed suicide in 1931. Her responses to Proust have also been lost.
Much can be found in these letters about the day-to-life of Proust. He complains constantly, although strangely very politely, about the noise which surrounds him, and which always stops him from sleeping. There is much, too, about the characters in Proust's fiction, which he is thrilled that Madame Williams enjoys; in the autumn of 1914, he tells her: 'At least I would have the joy of knowing that those lovely lucid eyes had rested on these pages'. Having not read any of his fiction yet, I must admit that this meant relatively little to me, but I'm sure it might be something I come back to in future once I have finally delved into his oeuvre.
This volume also includes an afterword written by the translator, and a foreword by Proust scholar Jean-Yves Tabié. Tabié writes that some of these letters were curiously sent via the postal system, despite the proximity of sender and receiver. Tabié goes on to say that 'the tone of the letters is that of friendship, of ever growing intimacy, between two solitary people.'
Like Proust, Madame Williams was something of a recluse, and was also suffering from an unknown ailment. In the second letter, for instance, Proust - who seems to find real pleasure in talking about how ill he is - writes: 'It saddens me very much to learn that you are ill. If bed does not bore you too much, I believe that in itself it exerts a very sedative effect on the kidneys.' He continues to ask her, throughout the letters which follow, what he can possibly do to alleviate her discomfort. In what is estimated to be the August of 1909, he says: 'I am saddened to learn that you, too, have been suffering. It seems natural to me that I should be ill. But at least illness ought to spare Youth, Beauty and Talent!'
Proust comes across as an extremely gentle correspondent, aware of what is going on in Madame Williams' life, and offering her one kindness after another. If I were Madame Williams, I must admit that I might have found his letters a little annoying at times, given the amount of time he spends being preoccupied about noise and illness. He is also rather pedantic, and there is something about him which I found rather prickly, and holier than thou. He writes to her in November 1915, for example, 'I am a little sorry that you have not received my last letters (though they were addressed I believe quite correctly)'. He seems keen to let her know how accommodating he is as a neighbour; in the same month, he is far too ill to attend a concert, but 'when by chance a musician came to see me in the evening, I stop him from making music for me so that the noise may not bother you.'
Although we only get to see one side of their correspondence, it is clear that there is a tenderness which Proust holds for his neighbour, and their connection does visibly grow as time passes. I personally really enjoy one-sided correspondences, and have read quite a few of them to date. I like watching how one writer's letters change over time, and what becomes more and less important to them as years pass. It is interesting, too, to imagine what might have been included in the responses. The two seem to rarely have met in person; Proust makes veiled excuses throughout as to why he cannot meet her physically, due primarily to his 'attacks'.
Proust is certainly an interesting figure, and one whom I would like to learn a lot more about. I enjoyed Davis' comments offered about the building in which Proust lived, which is now part of a bank building. She writes that this was the first place in which he ever lived alone, and that when he first moved in, 'he considered the apartment to be no more than a transitional residence.' She goes on to say that Proust was 'well-liked by his neighbours, on the whole, for the same qualities so evident in his letters to Mme Williams: his grace, eloquence, thoughtfulness, sympathy, gestures or gratitude.'
Letters to the Lady Upstairs is a revealing volume, which takes little time to read, but which lingers in the mind for a long time afterward. Proust captures so much of the city, despite largely staying indoors with his illness and the noise, and he relays everything - even his complaints - quite beautifully. As Davis says, 'Follow every reference in these letters, and Proust's world opens out before us.'
I am keen to pick up more of his work in the near future, and so would highly recommend this as a good starting point. I'm sure that if you are already familiar with Proust's novels, this will hold appeal for you too. Overall, Letters to the Lady Upstairs is quite fascinating, and introduces one to two very interesting historical figures - one whom a lot is known about, and another who has faded quite into obscurity.
January 15, 2018
Книжка, бесхитростному очарованию которой сопротивляться решительно невозможно: на протяжении 26 писем Марсель Пруст общается с соседкой сверху посредством парижской почты, жалуется на шум, дарит книги, рассыпается в комплиментах.
Почему эта сущая безделица может тронуть сильнее, чем титанический роман самого Пруста? В одном из писем автор даёт ответ и на этот вопрос: «так сложно уловить музыкальность, читая объемное издание; намного лучше она слышна в небольших отрывках».
Так и есть, слышна.
Почему эта сущая безделица может тронуть сильнее, чем титанический роман самого Пруста? В одном из писем автор даёт ответ и на этот вопрос: «так сложно уловить музыкальность, читая объемное издание; намного лучше она слышна в небольших отрывках».
Так и есть, слышна.
March 2, 2017
Arkadaşımın evinde kaldığım bir gece kısalığını göz önünde bulundurarak okuduğum bu kitabın niye yazıldığını, niye basıldığını, neyi amaçladığını, neye hizmet etmediğini anlayamadım.
Proust üst kat komşusuna çıkıp çemkirseymiş, vileda paspasıyla tavana 3 el vursaymış, bu mektupları yazmaktan daha evla bir iş yapmış olurmuş.
Açıp WhatsApp geçmişinizi okuyun daha iyi.
Proust üst kat komşusuna çıkıp çemkirseymiş, vileda paspasıyla tavana 3 el vursaymış, bu mektupları yazmaktan daha evla bir iş yapmış olurmuş.
Açıp WhatsApp geçmişinizi okuyun daha iyi.
May 24, 2019
Man, they'll really just publish anything these days. This should be on Lydia Davis's blog or something, rather than published as an actual book; by my count there are roughly 35 pages of Proust's actual writing in this book, at maybe 150 words per page ...? And the book is literally just short, polite notes that Proust left for his neighbor; of course they're well-written, because it's Proust, but I dunno.
In any event, I look forward to reading Joyce's instructions to his tailor, or whatever else these publishers can find at the bottom of the literary barrel.
In any event, I look forward to reading Joyce's instructions to his tailor, or whatever else these publishers can find at the bottom of the literary barrel.
January 12, 2016
Proust'un üst kat komşusu Madam Williams'a yazdığı 23 (üç tane de Williams'ın eşine) mektuptan oluşuyor. Mektupların bir kısmı aynı binada olmalarına rağmen posta yoluyla gönderilmiş. Mektuplar çoğunlukla Proust'un geçirdiği nöbetler, gürültüden etttiği şikayetler ve en güzeli de kısmen Kayıp Zamanın İzinde'nin yazılış sürecinden oluşuyor.
January 29, 2016
Kafka'nın mektuplarından sonra bunlar o kadar tatlı göründü ki gözüme... Üslubu ironik ve duygu vermede bir o kadar da doğal.
Uzun cümleler kuruyor yazar, Kayıp Zamanın İzinde için kendime biraz daha vakit vermek istedim.
Uzun cümleler kuruyor yazar, Kayıp Zamanın İzinde için kendime biraz daha vakit vermek istedim.
June 20, 2022
Okurken zaman zaman eline şimdi beyzbol sopasını alıp muayenehaneye dalacak diye düşünsem de öyle olmadı tabi :))
Yine hayran kaldım Prost’un o kibar kalemine. Tüm çektiği çileye rağmen yaptığı jestlere.
Yine hayran kaldım Prost’un o kibar kalemine. Tüm çektiği çileye rağmen yaptığı jestlere.
April 14, 2018
I found reading one side of a correspondence to be frustrating and unfulfilling. I did admire the quality of Lydia Davis's scholarship.
November 18, 2023
نامهها کم و کوتاه بود و از آن میشد فهمید که چه اندازه صدا آزارش میداده و تا چه اندازه دندانپزشک آمریکایی همسایه بینگرانی به کارش میپرداخته. هرچه نباشد دندانپزشک است و بیصدا کارش پیش نمیرود.
November 16, 2023
çünkü yaralı kalplerin gururlu hazinesidir hatıra.. Marcel Proust . Üst Kat Komşusuna Mektuplar.
Bir yazarın iç dünyasını anlamak acısından mektupların cok önemli oldugunu düşünmüşümdür. Bu kitaptaki mektuplarda bize Marcel Proust'in naif iç dünyasının kapılarını acıyor. Proust , ust kat komşusu eşi dişhekimi olan Madame Williams ile mektuplasiyor. Bu mektupların konusunu ise William ailesinin dairesinde yapılan tadilatın gürültüsü oluşturuyor. Proust bu gürültüden son derece rahatsiz fakat bu rahatsızlığını naif ve mizahi bir üslubla dile getiriyor. Mektuplarda Proust arkadaşlarından bahsediyor . Savaş sırasında kaybettiği arkadaşları icin üzüntüsünü anlatıyor. Cunku mektupların yazıldığı dönemde Birinci Dünya Savaşı var. Tarihler net olmadığı icin yayıncılar mektupları yayına hazırlarken birtakım ipuçlarından yola çıkarak tahmini tarihler koymuşlar. Proust, mektuplarına tarih atmiyor. Kitaptaki dipnotlarda bestecilere, sanatçılara göndermeler açıklanmış. Kayip Zamanın Izinde adlı yapıtının karakterleri de kitapta yer alan konulardan . Kısa bir metin olmasına rağmen bence okumak icin dikkat gerekli . Çünkü Proust okuması kolay bir yazar değil. Okumak isteyenlere iyi okumalar dilerim.
Bir yazarın iç dünyasını anlamak acısından mektupların cok önemli oldugunu düşünmüşümdür. Bu kitaptaki mektuplarda bize Marcel Proust'in naif iç dünyasının kapılarını acıyor. Proust , ust kat komşusu eşi dişhekimi olan Madame Williams ile mektuplasiyor. Bu mektupların konusunu ise William ailesinin dairesinde yapılan tadilatın gürültüsü oluşturuyor. Proust bu gürültüden son derece rahatsiz fakat bu rahatsızlığını naif ve mizahi bir üslubla dile getiriyor. Mektuplarda Proust arkadaşlarından bahsediyor . Savaş sırasında kaybettiği arkadaşları icin üzüntüsünü anlatıyor. Cunku mektupların yazıldığı dönemde Birinci Dünya Savaşı var. Tarihler net olmadığı icin yayıncılar mektupları yayına hazırlarken birtakım ipuçlarından yola çıkarak tahmini tarihler koymuşlar. Proust, mektuplarına tarih atmiyor. Kitaptaki dipnotlarda bestecilere, sanatçılara göndermeler açıklanmış. Kayip Zamanın Izinde adlı yapıtının karakterleri de kitapta yer alan konulardan . Kısa bir metin olmasına rağmen bence okumak icin dikkat gerekli . Çünkü Proust okuması kolay bir yazar değil. Okumak isteyenlere iyi okumalar dilerim.
September 9, 2021
“My solitude has become even more profound, and I know nothing of the sun but what your letter tells me.” —Marcel Proust to Marie Pallu
What does it take for people around the world, who were not even born decades after your death, to give a fuck about your bunch of letters to a noisy neighbor? You’d have to be the author of what many consider the greatest novel of all time.
Letters to the Lady Upstairs collects Marcel Proust’s 26 letters to Marie Pallu, who lives on exactly the top of Proust’s apartment at 102 Blvd. Haussmann, Paris, France. Their friendship was platonic, as Madame Marie, who at the time was Mrs. Williams, was living with her current husband and their children.
This book has a foreword that briefly contextualizes Proust’s friendship with Madame Marie and their setting. It also has an afterword that tells an extensive description of the apartment and Proust’s room. The afterword also shares some observations on Proust’s prose, which the translator describes as parenthetical. Proust, it’s said, was notorious for writing long sentences and inserting few punctuations; he made sure to write everything he wanted to say. And I think the translator tried to also be wordy by using unnecessary fillers in her own writing in this book.
The premise of this book fairly intrigues me, especially that the letters were written during Proust’s writing of his magnum opus: Remembrance of Things Past or In Search of Lost Time. This letter collection would be an easily intriguing addition to the collection of Proust’s avid readers, as it’s not only a chronicle of Proust’s friendship with a noisy neighbor, but also a glimpse of their setting: i.e. Paris in World War. It also reveals fun facts about the classic novelist, like he used to rent four rooms: one to stay in and the others to keep his room silent.
However, this slim book is not canonical. It’s not a must-have for readers of classic literature nor casual readers of Proust. It’s a one-sided correspondence, as it does not have the letters of Madame Marie. And even Proust’s letters, themselves, are incomplete; more unfortunately, the latter ones, which I’m mostly interested in, as it would show Proust’s mourning of Madame Marie’s death, which turned out to be suicide. Even the foreword, photos, afterword, endnotes, and index are not enough complementary pages. This book is simply incomplete. I would be more interested to have a complete, even if short, memoir of Proust’s friendship with Madame Marie; or even just an extensive chapter about it from an authoritative Proust’s biography.
Recently, I’ve been interested in Proust as I discovered that he’s a literary icon whose works also focus on nostalgia. As a writer who loves nostalgia, I want to learn from classic writers like Proust, as I dream my books to also be classics someday. But this posthumous publication, which Proust did not seem to plan to publish, does not appear to sufficiently give a glimpse of his literary genius.
The only thing I particularly like about this book is its cover—its minimalist style of drawing, typography, and color scheme is simply beautiful. I easily recommend it for collectors of books with beautiful covers.
What does it take for people around the world, who were not even born decades after your death, to give a fuck about your bunch of letters to a noisy neighbor? You’d have to be the author of what many consider the greatest novel of all time.
Letters to the Lady Upstairs collects Marcel Proust’s 26 letters to Marie Pallu, who lives on exactly the top of Proust’s apartment at 102 Blvd. Haussmann, Paris, France. Their friendship was platonic, as Madame Marie, who at the time was Mrs. Williams, was living with her current husband and their children.
This book has a foreword that briefly contextualizes Proust’s friendship with Madame Marie and their setting. It also has an afterword that tells an extensive description of the apartment and Proust’s room. The afterword also shares some observations on Proust’s prose, which the translator describes as parenthetical. Proust, it’s said, was notorious for writing long sentences and inserting few punctuations; he made sure to write everything he wanted to say. And I think the translator tried to also be wordy by using unnecessary fillers in her own writing in this book.
The premise of this book fairly intrigues me, especially that the letters were written during Proust’s writing of his magnum opus: Remembrance of Things Past or In Search of Lost Time. This letter collection would be an easily intriguing addition to the collection of Proust’s avid readers, as it’s not only a chronicle of Proust’s friendship with a noisy neighbor, but also a glimpse of their setting: i.e. Paris in World War. It also reveals fun facts about the classic novelist, like he used to rent four rooms: one to stay in and the others to keep his room silent.
However, this slim book is not canonical. It’s not a must-have for readers of classic literature nor casual readers of Proust. It’s a one-sided correspondence, as it does not have the letters of Madame Marie. And even Proust’s letters, themselves, are incomplete; more unfortunately, the latter ones, which I’m mostly interested in, as it would show Proust’s mourning of Madame Marie’s death, which turned out to be suicide. Even the foreword, photos, afterword, endnotes, and index are not enough complementary pages. This book is simply incomplete. I would be more interested to have a complete, even if short, memoir of Proust’s friendship with Madame Marie; or even just an extensive chapter about it from an authoritative Proust’s biography.
Recently, I’ve been interested in Proust as I discovered that he’s a literary icon whose works also focus on nostalgia. As a writer who loves nostalgia, I want to learn from classic writers like Proust, as I dream my books to also be classics someday. But this posthumous publication, which Proust did not seem to plan to publish, does not appear to sufficiently give a glimpse of his literary genius.
The only thing I particularly like about this book is its cover—its minimalist style of drawing, typography, and color scheme is simply beautiful. I easily recommend it for collectors of books with beautiful covers.
July 18, 2021
“Oysa yarın pazar… odama bitişik küçük avluda müthiş bir kuvvetle sizin dairenizin halıları dövülüyor. Yarın için insafınızı istirham edebilir miyim? … Umarım fazlasıyla patavatsız olduğumu düşünmezsiniz, en derin saygılarımı ayaklarınıza sererim efendim.” İmza: Marcel Proust
Marcel Proust, Haussman Bulvarı 102 numarada otururken üst kat komşusu Madam Williams’ın bitmek tükenmek bilmeyen gürültüsüne dayanamaz ve komşusuna mektup yazmaya karar verir. Mektuplar öyle nazik, öyle ustaca kaleme alınmıştır ki, komşular arasında bir uyuşmazlığa sebep olmak şöyle dursun, sade bir komşuluk ilişkisini samimi bir dostluğa dönüştürür.
Maalesef Madam Williams’ın Proust’a cevaben yazdığı mektuplar bulunamamıştır. Ama Proust’un mektuplarından Madam Williams’ın da bu sıradışı mektup arkadaşlığından ziyadesiyle memnun olduğunu anlamak çok da zor değildir. Hem kim bilir, Madam Williams’ın evindeki gürültülerin bunca ikaza rağmen devam etmesinin sebebi de değerli mektup arkadaşını kaybetme korkusudur?
Marcel Proust, Haussman Bulvarı 102 numarada otururken üst kat komşusu Madam Williams’ın bitmek tükenmek bilmeyen gürültüsüne dayanamaz ve komşusuna mektup yazmaya karar verir. Mektuplar öyle nazik, öyle ustaca kaleme alınmıştır ki, komşular arasında bir uyuşmazlığa sebep olmak şöyle dursun, sade bir komşuluk ilişkisini samimi bir dostluğa dönüştürür.
Maalesef Madam Williams’ın Proust’a cevaben yazdığı mektuplar bulunamamıştır. Ama Proust’un mektuplarından Madam Williams’ın da bu sıradışı mektup arkadaşlığından ziyadesiyle memnun olduğunu anlamak çok da zor değildir. Hem kim bilir, Madam Williams’ın evindeki gürültülerin bunca ikaza rağmen devam etmesinin sebebi de değerli mektup arkadaşını kaybetme korkusudur?
March 31, 2024
I was looking for a quick listen and this one fit the bill. It was an interesting insight through a series of letters from Marcel Proust to the ‘women downstairs’. I loved the writing and they were well translated.
It’s always great to get an insight from the past and provide a window into times gone. The letters themselves and the writings are beautiful, in their lyrical style and personal insights. I also love that complaining about neighbourly noise isn’t just confined to the times of now!
They are a great find and I can only imagine the impact of their discoveries. I love uncovering the more domestic and simple nature of historical every days lives and seeing this through the letters of Marcel Proust and in an audiobook format made for an interesting listen. Greatly narrated by Richard Hope too.
Audiobook and non fiction can be a little difficult for engagement at times though hence the final stars.
It’s always great to get an insight from the past and provide a window into times gone. The letters themselves and the writings are beautiful, in their lyrical style and personal insights. I also love that complaining about neighbourly noise isn’t just confined to the times of now!
They are a great find and I can only imagine the impact of their discoveries. I love uncovering the more domestic and simple nature of historical every days lives and seeing this through the letters of Marcel Proust and in an audiobook format made for an interesting listen. Greatly narrated by Richard Hope too.
Audiobook and non fiction can be a little difficult for engagement at times though hence the final stars.
April 17, 2023
"When one is endowed with imagination, as you are, one possesses all the landscapes one has loved, and this is the inalienable treasure of the heart."
"My most ardent hope is that the coming year may bring the softening, I won't say the forgetting since memory is the proud treasure of wounded hearts, of the trials of which the year is ending has brought you."
"It seems natural to me that I should be ill. But at least illness ought to spare Youth, Beauty, and Talent! At least you have the support of a loving heart."
— MARCEL PROUST to Marie Williams
"My most ardent hope is that the coming year may bring the softening, I won't say the forgetting since memory is the proud treasure of wounded hearts, of the trials of which the year is ending has brought you."
"It seems natural to me that I should be ill. But at least illness ought to spare Youth, Beauty, and Talent! At least you have the support of a loving heart."
— MARCEL PROUST to Marie Williams
Thank you Hannah
February 26, 2018
Üst Kat Komşusuna Mektuplar, hakkında hiçbir şey bilinmeyen Proust'un üst kat komşusu hanımefendiye yazdığı 23 mektuptan oluşuyor. Üst katındaki tadilat ile ilgili ricaları ile beraber tanıdıkları insanlar hakkında sohbet de ediyorlar mektupta. Karşılığında Proust'a gelen mektupları da okumayı çok isterdim. Gürültü fobisi olan yazarın yaşadığı zorluğu okumak beni çok etkiledi. Bir kahve içimi sürede bitti kitap. Ama bence Kayıp Zamanın Izinde'yi okuduktan sonra okusam daha iyi olurdu. Çünkü içinde onunla ilgili konuşmalar ve Proust'un yaptığı açıklamalar da var ve ben seriyi okumadığım için ne demek istediğini anlamadım. Seriyi okuyunca kitabın en azından o bölümüne yeniden bakacağım.
Kısacası tavsiye ederim kesinlikle okuyun.
Kısacası tavsiye ederim kesinlikle okuyun.
Read
May 16, 2022The nice thing about this book which I found somewhere (I’m not especially certain where) probably on a stoop in Brooklyn (where I find much of my highly diverse (almost aleatory) reading material) and which was translated by my friend Lydia Davis (who wrote a precise and intimate portrait of Proust’s apartment including an actual floor plan (with stairways and pantry and toilet) as an afterword) (“Translators Afterword”) is that it inspires one to write lengthy looping ornate self-conscious sentences without punctuation (except parentheses) in the style of the tetchy Parisian inadvertent moralist.
October 7, 2017
3.5 stars.
I really enjoy reading letters, and these were not an exception. Maybe a Proust fanatic would enjoy them even more, giving their slight references to "In search of lost time", but anyway they are a few warm and funny letters between Marcel Proust and his upstairs neighbour, Mrs Wiliams, about his ailments and the unnerving working noises that disturbed him every day.
These letters show him as a neurotic and kind neighbour, with a delicious wit and sense of humour.
It also includes an interesting essay by the translator about the apartment where Proust lived.
I really enjoy reading letters, and these were not an exception. Maybe a Proust fanatic would enjoy them even more, giving their slight references to "In search of lost time", but anyway they are a few warm and funny letters between Marcel Proust and his upstairs neighbour, Mrs Wiliams, about his ailments and the unnerving working noises that disturbed him every day.
These letters show him as a neurotic and kind neighbour, with a delicious wit and sense of humour.
It also includes an interesting essay by the translator about the apartment where Proust lived.
August 30, 2017
An interesting set of 26 letters to his upstairs neighbour whilst he lived in Paris, this is a very short book indeed, with facsimiles taking up a number of pages, an introduction & a translator's note taking up possibly more than the letters themselves.
A nice oddity for fans of "In Search of Lost Time" as there are a few references in the letters, other than that they would be totally out of place to non Proust converts.
Enjoyable but inconsequential (unless you're a Proust nut).
A nice oddity for fans of "In Search of Lost Time" as there are a few references in the letters, other than that they would be totally out of place to non Proust converts.
Enjoyable but inconsequential (unless you're a Proust nut).
June 28, 2022
خوندن نامه نگاری یک نویسنده، برای آشنایی بیشتر با روحیاتش خیلی خوبه؛ جذابه و احساس صمیمیت و نزدیکی بیشتری میده. و نقاط ضعف و قوت اخلافی نویسنده رو پررنگ تر نشون میده. توی این کتاب پروست با همسایه ش در مورد سروصداها صحبت میکنه و درخواست سکوت داره. البته به مودبانه ترین و دلبرترین حالت ممکن😍
حالا تصور کنید لابلای صفحات این کتاب، دستخط نویسنده و عکسای مخاطب نامه ها هم باشه. حس خیلی خوب و عجیبی داره.
من ترجمه ی کتاب رو بی نهایت دوست داشتم و باهاش راحت بودم.🍃
حالا تصور کنید لابلای صفحات این کتاب، دستخط نویسنده و عکسای مخاطب نامه ها هم باشه. حس خیلی خوب و عجیبی داره.
من ترجمه ی کتاب رو بی نهایت دوست داشتم و باهاش راحت بودم.🍃
April 13, 2023
Açıkçası gürültüden nefret eden Proust üst kat komşusuna ne kinayeli mektuplar yazmıştır diye hevesle başladım ama bunlar duygudaşlık, yer yer daha ilerisini ima eden mektuplar, sonra gelecek çiçekler, şiirler... Hanımefendinin arpla çekilmiş muhtesem fotoğrafı, Proust ile yolları ayrıldıktan birkaç yıl sonra intihar ettiği gerçeği.
Güzeldi, Kayıp Zamanın Izinde serisine başlamadan önce Proust'a biraz daha yaklaştığımı hissediyorum.
Güzeldi, Kayıp Zamanın Izinde serisine başlamadan önce Proust'a biraz daha yaklaştığımı hissediyorum.
November 6, 2017
Well, more like three and a half, because very slight, and somewhat repetitive, even if Proust: letters to upstairs neighbour with recurrent pleas concerning minimisation of noise impact from household works. But quite the antithesis of passive-aggressive post-its - one imagines that Marcel would have used up an entire pad at a go...
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